Chapter 1592: Chapter 1592

Chapter 1592:

Harlee’s brows arched ever so slightly. Her expression remained distant, her gaze unfathomable, yet the corners of her lips curled into a slow, mischievous smirk—half amusement, half provocation.

“A shame. You deserve a better employer.”

With that parting shot, Harlee turned on her heel and sauntered out the door, leaving Barry fuming and his secretary wishing she could melt into the floorboards and pretend she had never been there.

Barry’s eyes followed Harlee’s retreating figure with a singular thought churning in his mind—he never wanted to cross paths with this woman again.

His secretary, however, was still basking in the afterglow of being appreciated by a strikingly beautiful woman. Barry’s anger had merely compelled her to restrain her giddy delight.

Back in her hotel suite, Harlee shrugged off her coat and sank into the plush embrace of the sofa, stretching out with the ease of a panther at rest, her long legs draping over the edge. Every muscle in her body sighed with relief.

Right on cue, her phone vibrated. She didn’t need to check the screen. She already knew who it was.

Lazily propping herself up just enough to retrieve the device, she placed it on the sofa’s armrest without bothering to sit up.

As expected, the moment the call connected, Rhys’ deep, velvety voice seeped through the speaker.

“So, you really don’t plan on coming back tonight? Lee, you’ve been neglecting me for two nights now.”

Don’t miss out gαℓησν𝒆ls․cøm

There was a hint of grievance in his tone, subtle yet unmistakable.

“I have business to handle,” Harlee replied, a trace of laughter threading through her words. Her voice, though still cool, had lost its earlier sharpness.

On the other end, Rhys’ voice dropped even lower.

“Lee, you must be missing me by now. How about—”

It was almost laughable. The infamous Rhys, the iron-fisted ruler of the Green Group, a man who struck fear into the underworld with a mere glance, reduced to a besotted husband, restless after just two nights apart.

Harlee’s lips twitched, her smile languid and knowing. She didn’t even let him finish.

“No.”

At Remson Manor, Rhys sat at his desk, his sharp gaze locked onto the encrypted messages flashing across his computer screen. The latest intel had just arrived—details on the number of North Island assassins who had slipped into the country.

Hearing Harlee’s words, a slow smile unfurled on Rhys’ lips, his expression carrying a trace of indulgence. With a few swift taps on the keyboard, he sent a new set of instructions across the line.

Leaning back onto the sofa, he sprawled lazily, his posture mirroring Harlee’s on the other end of the call. Both were at ease, as if time had momentarily paused for them.

The rhythmic clatter of keys reached Harlee’s ears, and though Rhys couldn’t see it, a flicker of concern passed through her eyes. Her voice, light yet laced with a subtle hint of worry, broke the silence.

“Still buried in company matters?”

“Nothing serious.”

Then, as if flipping a switch, Rhys let his voice take on an aggrieved lilt.

“Lee, I can’t sleep without you next to me.”

Another attempt. Another play. The assassins who had arrived from North Island were far too many. Rhys knew his standing guard downstairs at the hotel wouldn’t be enough—Harlee’s safety was a fragile thread, and he wasn’t willing to gamble with it.

.

.

.